


Sickeningly coffee coloured vintage.

by chiyokintou



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Artists, Alternate Universe - Bookstore, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, SnK yaoi, coffee shop AU, jeanmarco, marcojean - Freeform, marcojean coffee au, marcojean coffeeshop au, marcojean oneshot, marcojean writer au, snk coffeeshop au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-21
Updated: 2015-02-21
Packaged: 2018-03-14 11:16:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3408578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chiyokintou/pseuds/chiyokintou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marco works at a coffee shop, Jean is a writer who needs coffee to write.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sickeningly coffee coloured vintage.

“Another black one”  

 It was his sixth cup of black coffee in the last two hours.  
Combine that with the fact the guy looked like he really needed some sleep.  
You get the fact Marco wanted to ask if the man was alright.

His hair was way too messy too, specially if you compare it to his own nicely combed hair. To  top of that his didn’t have huge dark roots. All with all the guy looked like he needed a day off.   
Then again.. wasn’t this a day off? Who the hell went to a coffee shop to glare at a laptop if they had normal work? No one would do that right? Specially not 3 days in a row. 3 days off drinking nothing but the strongest coffee and glaring at a screen.

Sometimes though.. quite suddenly.. his hands would start moving and they wouldn’t stop for at least a half hour. He’d be gone for a bit. He wouldn’t look up when Marco walked through the room and he would let his coffee get cold. Then after that he’d stop again, stare at his screen and grunt.

He would be out of idea’s again, marco filled in.

“Are you sure? Maybe you should.. take something with less caffeine”  

Finally the man looked up from his laptop. It made his bags seem even darker. His frown even bigger..  he was attractive “Excuse me?”  and pissed off.

“ A cup of tea.. maybe just something to eat so you won’t black out or-”

“I need to write, I need coffee”

Marco’s heart skipped a beat; I know, it’s the lamest stupid thing the heart of a bookworm can do but it did. The fact that the man was a writer just excited him. All he did when he was not working or learning was reading the words man like him had written.  “Write?  Like, a book? Are you a writer?”  

“Not for long if you don’t get me some freaking coffee”  So maybe he was too tired to talk. Okay. That was fine.

Wasn’t like there was anyone else in the shop so early in the morning. He could just.. read his book or something. He wasn’t feeling bored or lonely at all.  Yeah.

Marco made a black coffee and some toast with egg and bacon. Walked up to the man and put it down. “On the house..  keep up the good work”  Marco mumbled with the biggest blush on his face. He was just hoping it would get eaten. Nothing more. A man blacking out in their shop would be terrible.. a very attractive man blacking out in one room with him was even worse.  

 

As no people were getting in Marco took out 'The book thief' and started reading it. The book was at least 100% better than the movie but then again he he felt absolutely terrible for not finding the book before the movie came out. He had absolutely read the most infamous history books on the list but this one just hadn’t come into his life just yet. Not that this mattered, it took him a few days to get to page 400 and he loved it.

Marco looked up. Maybe the man was writing something like this too. It would be quite funny; if he ever read the man’s book without ever knowing it was his.  

“hey you”  The grumpy writer mumbled from behind his laptop  “You want to come and sit with me for a while?”  

So the guy only spoke when he felt like it. It was better than nothing. Then again the guy did come off as a little bit of an ass for not giving a 'thank you'

Marco would be an ass too,  if he never slept.

Not that he had ever done that before.

He had never really been an ass to anyone before either.

“Technically I’m working”

The guy rolled his eyes  “No one has or will come in, anyway your books ain't  working either”

“I guess” Marco stood up and sat down on the other side of the man’s table, taking his mug of tea with him.   “So what are you writing?”

A thin pale thumb slid over thin lips. As if he was thinking “Fiction”

“about?..”   

The guy frowned as the whole story seemed to shot through his mind “Complicated, you’ll laugh at me if I only explain it”

“Can I read it then?”

“No” A hash sound.   A silence fell over the room, only marco’s calm jazz music could be heard in the background.  Marco blushed, almost starting to apologize when the man spoke up “I wanted to ask about what you were reading”

“I’m reading the book thief”

“Saw the trailer.. didn’t look all too promising”

Marco blushed “Yeah I guess.. b- but the book is really good and it’s with history and stuff which was my major and I’ve read a lot so I know what he means and-” he was rambling absolutely uselessly and the moody man was most likely not even listening anymore.

“History?”  Marco nodded. Shocked.   “Tell me ‘bout it.  You can just ramble like that.. I like your dorky honesty”  

“Dorky?”

The man grunted “Shut up, Now will you? I might just get some idea’s”

So maybe he was an asshole. Maybe he did talk like he had a hand shoved up his arse twentyfour seven. Marco didn’t really care, he was way too excited with his head up in his world of words to notice. It was a little bit like he was living in a wonderful world with no people (or only fictional ones)  and then finally he met someone who was living in that world alone. Who would care about whether this person was an asshole at that?  He didn’t. And yes, maybe he was too easy, people gave him that all the time.

“Do you want the bright side and achievements or dark massacres and wars?”

“I prefer a lot of dead people”

Marco pulled up his eyebrows “That’s creepy”  

“I fucked up on getting your help now?”

“You’re fine”

The man smirked and let himself fall back in his chair  “You’re not too bad on the eyes either”

“Holy- uhh- well-”  

“You were talking about massacres, lot of blood and deaths”   Marco blushed furiously red. He had not expected the guy that looked like he was about to die to be so damn smooth. God did it fit him though; that stupid smirk. On top of that he brushed it off like that.. the guy was a real asshole alright, magically attractive still.

He cleared his throat  “I wanted to talk about Japan and China, is that in the right scene? It’s world war two”   The other just nodded “Well it’s about nanking, or nanjing.. It was once something like the capital of China until the Japanese came. I think this story is way more interesting because no one knew why they were so sadistic or harsh, it takes a lot of work to get into the details about the Japanese training methods even though it’s absolutely transparent that their ways were pure dark and painful. You see what they did-”    Once again he realized how bad he was at just for once not speaking about history. It was a weekday so until high school girls started getting buying coffee just to giggle at his freckled he talked with the other man. And oh all mighty was he a good listener. He just hummed grumpily and sometimes his eyes lit up as if he had gotten an idea by something Marco said. From time to time he’d start writing again but neither one saw that as much of a problem.  They enjoyed each others presence. It was unnaturally natural to just get up and work from time to time, or to just talk as the other typed.

“We europeans are selfish. We always think we are strongest and that what we have had was the worst. I’m not saying I’m underestimating what people went through in a war and I can only hope that we will never have to understand but we europeans own no place in the top list massacres. We just haven’t gone through that, nor have not native americans.. It’s not something to judge about but It’s just that if I ask you or any other european what the biggest massacre is you will all answer-”

“what?”

“What would you answer?”

“I don’t know-”

“Oh come on… you”  

“Jean”  A truck might as well have driven over his heart while there fell some pink sprinkles out of the back. Leaving it absolutely shiny and damaged because holy the man was name Jean and the feeling of knowing that was.. way too much.   “Please don’t ask me to speak french”

“But french is an attractive language”  He slightly whined.

Jean snorted cockily  “Are you implying I’m not attractive enough?”

“If you dig the whole heartless things then yeah”

“C’mon everyone does ever since twilight came out”

“I bet you love making teenage girls cry”

Jean snorted “You wish, I’m fully on team jacob”

“What?”

“Yeah I know unexpected but I really like the dark hair and chocolate eyes, little bit tall, little bit built, little bit not a women, oh and too nice for his own good is nice too.. ”

He could hear his own sweat gushing out of his probably red face. If Jean wanted cars to stop inside of the damn shop he had done a pretty freaking well job on getting his red light because holy no oh wow Jean was flirting with him wasn’t he? Not just innocently full of ‘you’re pretty cool, no homo’ but full fledged with twilight metaphors and all.   “You look kind of red.. buddy”

Marco shot up, trying to breath because if was becoming pretty damn hard on him “MARCO” Jean chuckled.  “My name is Marco”

“So I’m the king and you’re Marco polo.. kind of”

“You are full of bad movie references, also I’m pretty sure you are the writer here”  

 

Turned out Jean wasn’t just a man full of bad movie references. He was a man full off everything. His eyes held so much that they seemed to become empty and tired. A frown on his face because all these thoughts were just too austere. It amazed him and it made Marco get lost in this wonderful kind of artistic depression. Even if work interrupted him from watching the intensely depressed man, it made his whole being filled up with wonderful darkness. Like a starry night, perhaps.

It took Marco no time at all to get to know the man. The next day, when Jean walked in, they smiled at each other and a warm feeling spread through him. As if he was meeting an old friend he hadn’t seen in forever. Jean seemed to be completely comfortable too, like he had been before. Only now it felt different.

“I want a fucking shot this time”  Jean lit a cigarette and walked up to the door, where he stood, with the door half open,  to smoke from time to time.  

“Why is it that writers are always cockily angry and depressed?”  Because he honestly and truly couldn’t understand. He was stuck in this balloon of being glad that he had what he had.

“Because average American movie can absolutely suck a big fat wiener. They are fucking terrible with their fucking big kisses and cries and fake revolutions of love. Writers are fucking sick and tired of all these bad romance stories that could have been written by a twelve year old being literally everywhere around us. Even if we once loved them, we want to be unique”  Jean looked as if he was speeching,  his arms wide and his cigarette almost burning the door  “You zknow how we do unique? Blood, pain, no good endings, no happy fucking kisses and teenage role models. We want to break the fucking standarts down in a way that needs more IQ than hooligans would need. Fucking artistic killings, ripping some peoples heads of with words and taking them with you on this everlasting trip of creative depression.”

He walked up to Jean and handed him his coffee “I love the sound of that, I do kind of like a love story sometimes. Do you still want to talk to me now?”

“One love story for every freckle on your cheek and I’ll forgive you”  Jean let his hair slide through his hand. He had washed it when he had gotten home. Saying he hadn’t done it because of him, which was way too clearly lied. Jean was rather obvious, actually.

 

The doorbell rung. It seemed as if their time together had been ripped apart again. This time though, it wasn’t some teenage girl group that lusted after a few cups of fresh mint tea, it was Christa, a big smile on her face.  “Excuse me sir, could you please not smoke inside?”

He shot Jean an apologetic look and smiled “Christa this is Jean, Jean, Christa” he mumbled quickly while pretending he was working while talking.  

“Oh” her face quickly lit up “I didn’t know you were his friend, Marco has so many friends it is becoming kind of hard to keep up.. It’s lovely to meet you”  

“Actually I’m not really his friend, I’m a customer, met him yesterday, he was just really nice to me”  So he could actually be a decent human being to some people. Surprising actually, since he didn’t know him either and that didn’t stop him from being a jerk.

“That’s Marco for you” she smiled kindly “Anyway.. I’m going to work, you two take your time alright?” Normally this would have been a sarcastic comment but with christa everything she said was honest and kind. She didn’t seem to be in a hurry either, walked to that back and made a cup of tea.

“Christa’s the boss’ girlfriend, she basically owns this place too”  Jean send a quick glance towards where christa had gone while sipping his coffee “I got hired because Christa knew me and the ymir - that’s the boss-  liked my freckles.. I’m a freeloader”

“Maybe you are, then again I can’t blame the guy for hiring you just for the spots on your face”  Jean flirtatiously raised an eyebrow and smirked.

“Ymir’s a women, Jean. Taken ladies are not really my type”

“Bulmer, I thought I had a shot”

“If you dump the one that makes you a taken lady you might have”

“Damn, you sass”

For a second they just smiled at each other. Taking each other in. It did really feel like they were starting to become closer didn’t it?  

“I need to go back to work..”  Jean nodded “I meant what I said though..”  he wondered if that was clear enough. Maybe Jean had no idea what in the world he was referring to.. They talked so much.. he meant most of it.

 

When he started working again he couldn’t get the other male out of his head. Sure the other was grumpy and never looked clean but still he was way too attractive for his own good.  Actually, usually he was never this straight forward about his man crushes. It took a lot of dates and a lot of courage before he actually started liking him and holy crap the view of them being inappropriate had never shot through his mind this soon and this often.

Yet with Jean it was just so easy to like him. They could easily fall ino a conversation so deep it looked like a bottomless well they could never get out of again, but then Jean would cockily joke; dragging both of them back into the light in the blink of an eye.   Maybe it was because Jean was a writer. Switching between those was most important as a writer.

“Hey king freckle”  Jean called from his table, making the few customers they had look at him “Do you have a documentary about what they did with corpses and stuff like that?”

“I do, want me to make a list?”

“Yeah”

Soon after that Jean left. Simply mumbling some stuff about “Going to the library” which was a completely legit reason to leave Marco alone with his work piled up.  Going to the library always was.

“see you tomorrow?” I had nervously asked.  To which he had nodded intensely “yeah, tomorrow”

 

“Soooo… I don’t mean to invade your privacy but the way you two look at each other is a little bit.. romantic” Christa kindly smiled at him, not pushing too much. 

“I’m trying, believe me, and I think he’s flirting with me but I don’t think he’d like to see me more often.”

He walked up to where Jean had sat and picked up his cups “Don’t say that, he was totally into you”

“I just helped him out, it was no-”  His phone number. His phone number was laying next to this huge ass tip. Hell, forget the tip, his phone number, holy.. and a note saying ‘if you stop calling me lady I’ll take you up on that shot I have’  

“Excuse me marco, what were you saying?”

“Oh shut up, you”

 

To be honest, usually he really hated people that were on their phone all day but he ended up doing the same. He was absolutely glued to the damn screen.  
It didn’t even start with much,  a simple  ‘hey john,  this is marco from the coffee shop (: ‘   was enough to start an everlasting conversation.  
The grumpy writer had replied within seconds. It was funny how red, hot and steamy he got over how fast someone could text back.    
Even if it was a simple text

 

from: John the grumpy writer 

Glad you texted ;)  It’s Jean by the way, just think of how I like to touch butts and you won’t forget, I have a bond with jeans.

 

He couldn't help but chuckled slightly as he changed Jean's name. 

 

to:  Jean (:

Very classy, you butttoucher.

From¨  Jean (:

Hardly offensive.  Hey what time do you get off work?

Marco glanced at his phone a few times. It was a simple question but it raised so many more of them.

 

To:  Jean (:

Around six, why?

From: Jean (:

I was thinking about not eating microwave food for once and dragging you with me in the amazing world of healthy food.

 

Marco quickly breathed in, as if he had forgotten how to breath normally. Blood rose to his face as he poured the cinnamon over some lady’s latte.   “He asked me out, Christa”

She smiled “I told you didn’t I?”

“Is it weird for me to cook for him? Like.. too much?”

“Not at all sweetheart. Plus it saves you both a lot of money and pressure”

 

To: Jean (:  

You idiot! You should eat properly

To: Jean (:  

Oh and I could cook for you? Unless you had anything in mind of course.. or if you don’t want that.. uhm,  I’m a pretty decent cook (:

And so their texts went on forever. Jean agreed to him and continued to bring up new useless topics. It felt great actually. The man had his way with words. It was quite a cocky, yet awkward way, still it was a charming one. A way that swept him away.

He kind of instantly became bad at his work. Christa didn’t care and when Ymir showed up eventually; she couldn’t care less either. When Christa explained the situation to her, Ymir immediately knew it was Jean he would be having dinner with.  “Rude, grumpy, drinks a lot of very strong coffee and looks so dead you wish you would have gotten first aid lessons?”

“That’s him, yes” He couldn’t help but smile at the thought.

“Nicee, I like him”

 

Few hours later the bell of Marco’s apartment rung. He stormed down the stairs so loud the other occupants of the old house most likely stopped whatever they were doing. They most likely brushed it off as a storm or earthquake or something like that.. thank god Armin and Sasha weren’t whiny. Sasha was nosey though and she was going ask who the hot Robert Pattinson-ish guy was.

“Jean”

“I’m sorry I’m late, writing was going really great and holy fuck your house is great”  he rambled as he walked into the hallway. The big old stairs with a red carpet over it. It did make him feel quite fancy every single time he walked the stairs, he had to admit.

“Third floor only, obviously, as I work in a coffee shop,  and it’s fine, writing comes first”  

It didn’t take much to make a grown man this nervous. Give him a hot date and you’re done. “I think I want to tell you about my book marco”

He nodded slowly, which might have been quite the anticlimax really. Somehow the air around them made up for his weak reaction. It was intense and nice “First things first though, we need some spaghetti bolognese”

“Sexy date food”

“Watch your mouth or I’ll never make sexy date food again”

“Already going for a second date, I didn’t realize this was going so well but I’m not complaining either”

He just ignored Jean’s cocky comment and put the fire pit on to warm the food.

Jean sat down on his couch and looked around him. The crappy writer in the old crappy apartment surrounded by books and second hand stuff.  His favorite soul music was playing in the background softly.. he was rather proud of the perfect sight. Never had anyone or anything fitted his apartment as good as Jean did.

“Dead grandma stuff and books about history and war”

“What can I say?”

“Something among the lines of  ‘I’m a cute coffee colored freckled vintage nerd’”

Blood rose to his head at the speed of light  “Y-you think huh?”

“Absolutely.. I bet you do charity work at the library too”

“I might..”  Jean was actually kind of perfect at making stories that fitted people incredibly well. Everything he said hit the nail on the head.  He was like a character out of a story; they always talk in wonderful patterns and know things real people wouldn’t, yet here he was, sitting on his couch.

Marco took two plates of spaghetti and put them on the table together with a pot of tea “Dinner”  he mumbled kindly.

Jean nervously shot up and walked up to the table “Looks delicious”

“Thank you”

A silence fell.

It was an awkward one too. One they hadn’t felt before, when they were at the coffee shop.

It was Jean who broke this silence “Titans”

“Gezundheid?”

Jean rolled his eyes  “Disney references, very funny mister freckles,  but I was talking about my damned story.”

His lips most likely became a perfect O.  

“Okay so.. It’s about these trainees that have to fight against these huge.. Giants. They have no skin and are so hot they are able to burn you.. I have sketches, I’ll show them later. Anyway, the story starts with a flashback in like.. a flashback from one of the trainees..-” Jean talked for over an hour. The days before he had listened to him rambling on about history but it was nice to hear the man talk himself. It showed that he wasn’t a completely mysterious Edward Cullen rip off.   “Alright so my new idea was that when this friend dies he choses to go to the other side and to not work for the king”

“Sound logical, I would most likely do the same”

“Exactly! anyway, a lot happens-”

There was some romance, between two girls, a titan shifter and a so called princess. He was actually quite amazed that Jean could be that romantic. Painful romance. A girl that had to be the absolute object of grace.

“Is it.. a little bit clear now?  I toldyou it would sound dumb if you haven’t-”

“It’s amazing! Such a good story line, I would love to read it, really Jean”

Jean genuinely and shyly smiled while sipping his tea. Which he was only drinking because Marco had scolded him about his extreme usage of caffeïne.

“Speaking about amazing.. having a proper meal was”

The two just smiled at each other again, then shortly after they moved to the living room. Where he got ignored for a while because Jean seemed to have fallen in love with his fat red cat that instant.  He wasn’t very fond of Jean holding his cigarette so close to Pumba - his cat- though. Even if the smoke made the whole situation and mood even more wonderful. All of it matched. All of it fitted each other.

Instead of begging for attention he just watched Jean while singing along to the new Ben l’Oncle Soul song. Jean followed him and sang with too, his french turned out to be magnificent and apparently, his taste in music too.  “Jean..”  Jean let his head fall to his side so that he was looking at him “Is there someone in your life now”  

“Do you honestly think I would be lying on your couch like this if I did?”  

“It’s not like I know you that well.. I would like to know a lot of things about you, jean.. if you are even..-” if he was gay. Mainly if he was gay or just cocky and flirty to everyone.

“Here, give me your hand”

He did. He put it against Jean’s and the other made their hands move as if they were dancing together. A story played out right there, even if they weren’t really thinking about it. Their hands automatically moved together. He couldn’t deny it was quite inspirational.    
‘I’m an asshole aint I?”  Marco nodded hesitantly “and you are way too nice and sickingly coffee coloured vintage..  we are so different from each other”

Jean’s fingers slipped between his.  

“Yet we just met and feel this bond and this love for literature and revolutions… don’t you think that’s somehow typically queer?”

“Maybe.. I guess more than other things”

“Why?”

“Because we want to escape this world?”

“Maybe but not what I mean” Jean bit his lip, their hands warm “It’s because of the exact word I just said;   why?   Our whole lives we’ve been told to wonder ‘how?’  ‘how do we become perfectly civilized?’ ‘how do we find proper and stable love?’  ‘how do you get and treat a child?’  ‘How was this world made?’..”  Jean let go of his hand to light a cigarette, then he casually slipped his hand back into his and went on “We stopped wondering ‘how?’ and we wondered ‘why?’  ‘why do these people attack our fucking rights? Why can’t I wear the clothes I want? Why can’t I just casually tell my parents about this cute freckled boy I met?’  that’s why we give them our literate revolution, in hope they start wondering ‘why?’ too”

Marco looked at their hands and then back at Jean’s expecting and piercing eyes that slowly travelled from his eyes to his lips.  “You know Jean.. I have always wondered what my own little revolution would feel like.. but I think I know now”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah..; it’s this. It’s feeling this satisfaction and having someone like you to understand. I feel overwhelmed and out of sorts yet so satisfied, I don’t really care anymore and because we to without anyone knowing understand and won't look up weirdly, I'm so out of sorts but I want you to kiss me”

“Aha, well that’s- wait- oh.. holy fuck, uh.. well I-  okay?”

“Jean..”

“Sorry I was surprised of how that escalated , but fuck yeah”   Within the blink of an eye Jean had pulled him into his lap. Without even thinking about it twice their lips softly pushed against each other. Then they pushed each other open and their slow kiss bigened. It was calm and intense.  The taste of spaghetti and smoke filled his whole being.

A hand travelled from his neck into his hair. Without even noticed Jean touched his weak spot, sending shivers right through him.

It sounds sappy but he had never experienced such a kiss. Like he had said it felt like his own little revolution. The intensity,  the calm washing over them.. it was as if he was saying ‘screw off’ to the entire world and he finally realized what it could be like. So fitting.. so far away from it all.  

Jean softly pushed him down, his head pushed uncomfortably on a book was compromised by the rough lips that were pushed against his. And soon after against his ear, the warm breath making his shiver.  “holy shit”

“Understatement”  

Jean raised his head to look at him, a genuine smile playing on his lips “Alright then mister smarty pants”   the thin lips were placed on his once again. For a playful, nice second.

“This is nice”  he whispered.

“Now that’s an understatement”  Jean smirked as marco let his nose slide over his cheek.  

Break was over. Suddenly Jean pushed his lips back on his and pushed him against the back of the cough roughly. His tongue exploring throughout as he ditched the sweet innocence.

Marco awkwarly pulled out his shirt and Jean laughed at him a little, then mirrored him so that they were both shirtless “didn’t know reading was a topsport”  Jean mumbled as he let his cold fingers slide over the slightly tanned abs on his belly.

“Didn’t know being this white was even possible this age, thought everyone was a little bit of everything”

“I am, but being german and french doesn’t exactly make you look like morgan freeman”

“Bulmer, I have a thing for black guys”

Jean smirked “Give me a minute and you won’t anymore”  Truer words had never been spoken. He believed every single word of it. He had a hard time thinking of any other man already.   

Jean’s cold hands travelled around his body, slowly going into his pants but coming out again, just slightly touching his butt. Teasingly, maybe.  “Your hands a freezing, you really are a Twilight rip off”

“Wow, way to not be romantic freckled jesus”

“Oh was that what we were doing?”

Jean let his lips fall against his face and mumbled against it  “Not necessarily, making out is pretty fucking great, even without the fake romance”

“Indeed, that’s what I thought.”  

Jean softly pecked his nose, making his laugh and probably blush redder than any tomato ever seen.  “Marco can I sleep over?”  

He softly pushed Jean away and looked down.  He knew the question would come and he really didn’t know how to answer it.  “Uh.. Jean I really like you and all and I know we’re grown men but-”

“Oh! no, I mean like.. just eat breakfast together and like.. make out a lot and maybe  I could drive you to work”  who would have thought Jean was such a romantic guy? He had really passed him off as a guy that only had one night stands. That kind of had been what he was afraid of; the fact Jean would only have a one night stand and leave him.

 

Falling asleep next to someone for the first time in forever was really great. They didn’t even spoon, they just snuggled up, their faces close to each other and Jean’s cold feet pressed up against his hairy legs.  It was lovely really.

Just like waking up. He always thought he looked bad when waking up but in the name of words, did Jean look terrible. His mouth slightly open and his hair all over his face.  He watched Jean for a while, a funny kind of serenity he had missed inside of him. He silently wished that Jean would stick with him, and that they would be able to have more mornings like this.

He sneaked off to the kitchen to make some toast and coffee for Jean. He wasn’t going to keep the guy from his coffee in the morning, especially since he would probably have to get up sooner than usual because of him and his work.

“Fuck me,”  A heavy grunt came from his bedroom, making him chuckle “and mornings”   

So his predictions had been on spot;  Jean was the worst kind of morning person.   “Im sorry”  Marco said while he placed the last bits on his table. He already heard stumbling out of bed. Which was pretty damn amazing for a guy that hadn’t slept in forever.

Jean cockily walked in and hung against the kitchen’s door frame “For?”

“Waking you up early”  

“I haven’t slept this long and good in a while, freckles”  Jean sat down on the crappy chair and hung back with his eyes closed  “Mornings and I just went through a rough breakup so we don’t work well together”  

“Ahh, I see”  He sat down and handed Jean his coffee.

They ate in silence. Comfortable silence in which thoughts kindly came and went.  Jean seemed lost in thoughts, somewhere deep inside of a world that was only his. Marco realized that this was the look he loved most on Jean.  

“Shall I bring you to your work?”

“Well.. I could just take the bus”

Jean’s frowned “Bus?”

“ My car and I had a rough breakup, we don’t get along well anymore”  

Jean laughed wholeheartedly and stood up  “Alright then, let’s get your gorgeously freckled ass dressed”

“You haven’t even seen my ass”

“Yet”  

They stared at each other seriously for about a second before Jean’s cocky smirk made him lose it.  “Very charming, Mister gentleman"

“Aware of that” Jean said while eyeing him shamelessly while he changed his shirt for a red blouse and never stopped doing as he pulled a shirt over his own naked chest. This finally gave him some space to think clearly because Jean’s belly hair was just so damned perfectly shaped.  

“I smell like you”  He accidentally blurted out somewhere while getting dressed. Jean didn’t reply. He just smiled brightly, walked up to him and put his forehead against his. Warmth going through him and his heart skipping a beat (him and his weak girl issues).  He guessed it wasn’t so bad.  

Jean breathed in deeply and obviously “But your own scent is still there, thank god, I thought I made you a stinking man too, instead you just made me smell better”   

“Cheese” He whispered.  

Jean smirked at his comment and let their nose touch. He softly caressed his nose by doing so, their eyes closed and their breaths mixed  “I do believe that’s racist when you say it to a french man”

He wished the guy would just shut up with his cheesy comments and kiss him  “Positive racism; as I have a thing for french cheeses and all”  

There it was.

Jean pushed their lips together and let his hand go through his hair. Roughly, then softly again. And when he’d stop, he’d breathe against his ear, or cheek.  Letting his lips slide over his mokka skin.  “let’s go coffee boy”

 

They sung.  They sung the whole way there, they sung in languages they didn’t understand and in bad american accents. They looked at each other while doing so and Marco realized that Jean’s bags didn’t necessarily make him look better, but his smile sure as hell did.  

The drive was too short. The whole day, and night had been too short.  He was actually kind of glad Jean always sat in his shop like an asshole all day and that he’d get another chance to flirt with Jean as if they hadn’t slept in one bed together. Like their lips hadn’t touched.

 

“I wish I didn’t have to work”

“I need to write too”  True.

Jean slipped his arm around his hip and walked in as if he was holding a nobel prize. It made Christa light up at the sight of them and him blush.  Jean was once again a natural cocky jerk, doing whatever he wanted with that confident smirk of his.   

“Hey Marco.. and Jean”  Christa brightly welcomed them as Jean waved at her. Almost flirtatiously. If Jean hadn’t been 50 shades of gay it would have crushed him and his gay crush on the guy. Now it didn’t. He was perfectly aware of the fact this was just Jean’s way of being the being he was.

“Alright then,  I’ll be leaving”  He mumbled.

“Wait, what?”

Jean smiled an apologetic smile. A new one. A smile he hadn’t seen on him before “I’m going home to write, I finally feel up to it”

“You’ve been here writing, haven’t you?”

“Marco, it’s my writing process okay?  I’ll call you this evening”   He nodded with a numb body.  He didn’t really know what Jean meant by it but he trusted him. He knew when he started the whole thing Jean was going to be artistic trouble. That artists make no sense and a lot of coffee.  

“Yeah, sure, good luck”   

Jean turned and raised his hand to take hold Marco’s chin to make him look at him. “I really like you Marco”

“Uh, yeah me too, but I’ll speak to you in a while right? so-”   Jean pushed pushed his smiling lips onto his open once. Softly and shortly.  A goodbye kiss. He realized.  

“See ya”

“Yeah”

* * *

 

“Marco, you should get over it”

“I am”  The biggest lie ever told. He couldn’t discribe the happiness that had gotten into him when he met Jean. The real Jean. The one that could instantly monologue and sip tons of coffee until midnight. The one that talked so harsh but kissed quite softly.

He had had it so short but still it was more painful. Because they had only started and because he was disappointed. Disappointed in Jean.

The first day, and even days he hadn’t cared. The man was a writer. It didn’t surprise him that Jean didn’t call him the first evening. Sure, it made him feel a little bit bad but he understood it. Writing progress and being an artistic mess; it was just fine.  

Four days, still no word. He had left home to give lessons in the library. Lots of old ladies that never had the chance. He always loved it. Yet he messed up. Even these ladies noticed something was up. Their smiles fell and one asked him ‘what is it sweety? You don’t look so good’

He thought he had managed to hide it by now, after one week of waiting with the slightest bit of hope and one week of disappointment and one of acceptance he was fine. That’s what he thought. Still Christa noticed. After three weeks he still wasn’t over a damn one night stand without any love making even.

“I could have known.. he does come of as a one night stand person”

Christa smiled “You know who else does? Ymir, yet it worked out”

“You are an angel Christa, it’s an exception”

“Please Marco, just try to be good to yourself, buy a book, make a cake, flirt with someone else.. you deserve it’  

He pulled on his jacket and nodded “Thanks sweety, I’m heading out alright?”  

As Christa’s idea wasn’t all too bad he headed into the city. First he stopped by an patisserie to buy a few macarons, then he headed to the old bookstore. The bookstore he was living for. The old church in the city that had been transformed into a huge bookstore with books in every scene and language. He had almost forgotten how much he loved books. He had also almost forgotten why he fell for Jean in the first place;  they have one and the same answer and it’s something ineffable.   

“Excuse me?”

A sweet women turned and smiled at him “Yes, how may I help you?”

He was terrible for doing this to himself “Do you have any books written by Jean Kirschstein?”

Her face lit up. A weird reaction to say the least.  “Yes! His new book came in today, unless you want another one?”

“No.. no that one”   His brain kind of stopped working. To say the least.

He just mindlessly followed her to where Jean’s book stood. They weren’t even all out of the boxes. It was his new book, without a doubt. Titans, deaths and revolutions.  

He was in the mood for it.

“Ah, Yes I’d like that one”  He took the book out of her hands and held it close to his heart as he walked towards the counter. He had no reason to be so anxious and to get so sentimental over the book but he couldn’t help but do. He had- kinda- helped on the book. A little. And Jean had written it.. Jean had had a overdose of caffeine because of this book.

He smiled to himself.  Maybe he should just be proud he got to hold Jean for one night.

 

On the bus home he ignored the whole world. He tried not to read the book yet but failed as the thing kept screaming and screaming silently.  He opened it. Louder screams. Words. Lots of words. He lost them because of Jean’s eyes filling his mind. His grunts and sighs because of these words.

He felt so tired..

Black words.

‘another black one’

Yet Jean wasn’t here to ask that. His book was.

 

He lost himself when reading. Somehow he had gotten home while reading. Somehow he ended up on his couch and kept on reading.  He read about the Titans and all the characters named after people Jean knew. Christa was there and eventually he realized that the Marco Jean was writing about.. was him.

It made him smile how sweet Jean’s p.o.v’s thoughts about him were. How the Jean in the story fell in love with Mikasa yet felt for him. It made him happy. It made him warm.

The story showed him that he had indeed influenced Jean when writing the story.. the two of them agreed to go to work for the king together. They agreed on it even though they were in different teams in a battle.  

It was almost morning again when he finally stopped reading.

It was after the moment he started hating the book.  Something inside of him seemed to die because Jean just kept on killing these characters. Every single one of them died. He had read about deaths, about deaths that had really happened yet no one had ever written… no one had ever written his death.  Marco died.

Marco died in the story.  Jean had killed him too. As if he wanted to show him that he didn’t matter to him anymore. A hidden message saying ‘I cared but not for long, you are dead to me’

It made him feel terrible. He put the book away and made himself black coffee.

He needed to work.

He was going to need it.

 

“Marco, there’s someone waiting for you on the upper floor”

He let a hand slide through his hair.  “Oh?”

“What happened? You look terrible”

“You told me to buy a book, so I did”

Christa giggled “I’ll make you some coffee, go upstairs baby”

He did. He walked slowly and painfully. His pain even worse when he saw who sat there. And even though it’s not much of an surprise to you, it was for him. He hadn’t even considered it.

Jean was sitting there, looking quite healthy, nicely dressed and sipping some coffee. His eyes were closed. It made him wonder if he knew he was there.  “Did you read it?”   He did.

“You killed Marco”

“Actually, titans did that, you can’t judge a writer for what he writes, those aren’t his words but those of the one telling the story.”  

“Yet you use people you know as characters”

Jean sighed and sipped his coffee “You gave me enough inspiration to write Jean’s character properly”

“He’s an asshole and his friend dies?”

“I told you didn’t I?  He will go through so much pain he’ll join the survey corps.. how much did you read?”

Marco sat down. Once again Jean’s words had him captivated. It was really the worst but it just happened. He wanted to listen to everything Jean had to say.   “Why did you name him after me then? You thought that leaving me and then killing me off in your damned book wouldn’t make me feel bad?”

“Of course it would! but it made me feel terrible and that was the fucking point. I just.. how the fuck do you write someone that’s mourning over the death of someone they loved if you’re that fucking happy and loving?”

Marco fell into silence. It did make sense now that he said it like that “You could have told me?”

“And you think I would have panicked and hurt the same way?  It took quite something to get me to that point”

“Yeah.. I guess I can understand”

Jean smirked his characteristic smile once again and reached over the table to take his hand. The cold of Jean’s hand gave him shivers. It also made him want to cry in achievement. He was quite terrible really, he barely knew Jean.. it was some stupid Romeo and Juliet. Stuff. They had truly lost it.  “It did kind of make me appreciate you more.. also I feel as if we know each other way too good even though-”

“We’ve only been together for three days and we’ve known each other for three weeks or so.. I know.. I feel the same”

“But I would love to get to know you better, actually”

“Without killing me”

“You are never going to forgive me, are you?”

“Nope”

Jean smiled “I can live with that.  You want to go get coffee after your work?”  

“I don’t know, I have a book to finish”

“but I could get you some alone time with the writer of that book?”  

He chuckled wholeheartedly  “Ah yeah, I love that writer, such attractive ways”

“I’ll tell him that”

“Please do”

 

That evening they had almost forgotten all that had happened. It had been washed away by cups of sweet coffee and they were once again dazzled by words and poetry.  He had never felt like a poet before, but Jean said that if one really likes another that he instantly becomes a cheesy poet.  It suddenly did seem rather realistic.

Maybe he was just lost again. His couch did held memories he’d rather hold on to. Now they were sitting on it once again. Jean was touching him kindly and softly once again.   
His couch was becoming his favourite place.

“Don’t leave me every time you have a writers block”

Jean caressed his cheek, a glass of wine in his other hand  “I’ll probably be doing a lot of interviews, columns and poetry so I won’t”

“I was afraid.. that you were that one night stand loving asshole you look like”

“And?”

“I don’t think you are.. but you have done nothing to prove it really¨

“ I will, I will wait for you if you want to, for days and nights I will stick with you without even-”  He kissed him. He didn’t know what came over him but he kissed Jean deeply and heavily. Maybe just to say ‘no thanks, you don’t have to wait for me.’ without using words. He wasn’t as good with words as Jean was.  

Jean seemed to understand every language whatsoever, because he pushed him against the back of the couch and pulled out his shirt. Jean’s thin cold hand held his hip as if he never wanted to let go.  Then suddenly he pulled back and whispered in his ear “I might be getting the wrong idea but-”

“No you’re not”

Jean pulled back and looked into his eyes. Shocked perhaps.  “Oh.. do you like, want to get to the bedroom then?”   

He chuckled but nodded. He was happy. No one could blame him for getting swept away. He deserved Jean and Jean made him happy. He made him feel like so much more.  He made him lose it.

His back hit the futon. Jean’s lips lips were pressed to his neck and slid over his body. He was bitten and caressed. Turned out Jean producing words weren’t the only thing Jean’s mouth was good at. It was good at.. so much more. At making him feel so damn good, mainly.

His lower half was throbbing. Jean just kept breathing and whispering in ways that made him feel so damn intense and warm. It was as if he had found perfection. And oh was his perfection so imperfect and wonderful.

He lost it.

He made no sense.

Jean touched him, he moaned. Jean whispered to him, he lived.  “You are.. so wonderful”  He managed somewhere. No I love you’s were needed. But they would get there, he was sure of it.

When Marco stood up Jean’s held a look of devastation, it was kind of funny; to see him like that  “Lube.. and a condom”    It was kind of funny to see Jean smile so dumbstruck too.

Found.  He pushed Jean down on the bed and softly pushed down his underwear. Let his hand slide. Tight.  Jean moaned.  

He slowly kissed from Jean’s chest to his neck. He was slower than Jean was, yet the whole thing was still intense. Jean breathed slowly and carefully as he pushed in yet another finger. A discussion was never made. They both didn’t really seem like feminin types and Jean had- like him- probably accapted that things would just go the way they’d go. And that if they’d stick together the tables might turn. They both didn’t really care. They were swept away in the moment way too much to actually care.

Fingers helplessly traveled his tanned skin as he concentrated on preparing “Marco”  Jean breathed out, a sound that hit him like a brick “It’s fine now”

“Alright” He made sure to let his hands travel Jean’s leg fully before pushing them up and moving closer “I’m sorry for-”

“Just fucking do i-  Ah Fuck!”   And so he did as asked. Pushing his eyes closed. Guilt and lust rushed through him. Lust won him over and he started moving a little too soon, making Jean scream out. A pleasured scream,  one that made his entire being loose it.  He rocked up and down. Sweat fell onto Jean’s chest. He kissed Jean on the lips, they barely had any breath any more though. Jean bit him somewhere along the road. He just kissed Jean, and whispered how amazing he was. Whispered how much he wanted him, how much he wanted him to stick with him. Because he did. He wanted sex like this every day. He wanted Jean every day like he had Jean until deep in the night.  Under him. Next to him and around him.

  
Morning.  His alarm clock had never sounded mean to him but right now he was just interrupting him from living his dream.  He pushed it out as quickly as possible to ‘his living dream’ wouldn’t wake up from his sleep, as the guy was a total and complete grump.  

When he did he also checked his text. One from Ymir… who had changed her name in his phone?  In a very professional manner too.

 

From: Queer Queen (Aka freckled pussy destroyer)

 Yoo, you get the day off, have fun with the most grumpy man on this entire planet (((:   you deserve it Freckle boy, go get da d  ;)

 

“Marco”  So sound came from the parently ‘most grumpy man on this entire planet’

He smiled and snuggled up against the other again.  “Good morning, grumpy”  

Jean opened one eye and pushed his lips onto him. Randomly, not wanting to move. They smelled like sweat, wine and coffee. It was new.. usually it smelled like old books and dust in his room. It was nice though, he could live with the smell, day in day out.  

“I got a day off”  

Jean smiled, still half asleep  “good, hug me all day”  

“Alright”    He hugged Marco closer “I’ll hug you for as long as you want”

“Your entire life?”

He chuckled against Jean’s hair  “Do I get coffee breaks?”  

“You are coffee”  

“And you are half asleep” He kissed Jean’s head and closed his eyes. Maybe being coffee wasn’t all too bad.

Jean needed it to write.

Jean needed it to live.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you liked it!  
> Please let me know what you think (:


End file.
